Just Breathe
by MissWah
Summary: When Sherlock is in trouble there's someone he can always rely on to be there for him.
1. Chapter 1

The first thing he felt was the pain.

It erupted from his head, creating a rippling sensation down his body and making him gasp for breath. His lungs were burning and he frantically clawed at his throat, desperate to take in a deep breath, but it was useless.

There was something soft and warm pressed against him. He held on to it tightly, trying to ground himself, but he couldn't discern what it was. Everything was fuzzy and the pain in his head only made it all the more difficult to understand what was going on.

He could feel heat all around him and hear the screeching yell of sirens and people. Through the haze of his own thoughts he heard someone shout _don't move them_ but then he felt the darkness wrap itself around him again.

The next thing he knew something was being enclosed around his neck. There were hands gently touching him and he felt something rigid underneath him. The warmth was gone and he tried to protest, but his one feeble attempt was cut off by a bout of coughing which left him clutching at his chest and wheezing.

His eyes closed and his fists clenched as he felt the ground drop out from beneath him. The combination of the noise, the bright lights and the pain was too much and he tried to shut everything out. He needed to figure out what was going on but his brain failed to work out anything beyond _pain pain pain_.

When the sickening motion finally settled he felt hands working at him again, the cold latex again his skin, a light shining into his eyes, the pinprick of a needle on his arm. He moaned and tried to swat the hands away but it was useless. He could hear voices around him, comforting him, grounding him, but he still couldn't make out the words.

Something was pulled over his face and he was ready to protest when suddenly he could breathe. The relief was so immense that he instantly felt all his muscles relax. There were a blissful few moments when the heat was gone, the noise was muffled and the pain was slowly fading from his body but he still felt anxious. There was something missing, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He just knew that he _needed_ it. Whatever it was, he needed it.

There were a few seconds when he heard the noise outside clearly again and felt a slight dip before it was muffled once more. The fog in his mind was slowly lifting and now that the pain and the noise weren't as overwhelming he risked opening his eyes and what he saw brought a whole other level of relief with it.

 _John._

There it was. Exactly what he needed. John Watson. _His_ John, safe and sound right next to him.

He watched as John reached his hand out slowly towards him and lightly stroked Sherlock's forehead, the gesture bringing a heaving sigh of relief with it.

A small, tight smile appeared on John's face and he tried to reciprocate it, but the comfort of having him there and the pull of unconsciousness was too strong and so Sherlock drifted off once again.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing he felt was the warmth.

He looked down to see John's hand wrapped tightly around his own bandaged one. John was asleep, sitting in an uncomfortable looking hospital chair and slumped over Sherlock's bed.

There was a warmth spreading throughout his body that was not due to John's comforting touch. Sherlock tried to figure out what it was, and to figure out what exactly had happened, but he couldn't remember much.

He looked out the window and the darkness told him that some time had passed since what he now recognised to have been the ambulance ride to the hospital.

At that moment John started stirring. Sherlock knew that the second John woke up he would let go of his hand so he braced himself for the disappointment.

John's eyes opened slowly but as soon as he saw their hands he must have remembered where he was because he quickly sat up and looked at Sherlock, relief spreading across his face when he noticed his eyes were open. John sat back in his chair, letting go of Sherlock's hand as he did so. Sherlock tried to hide his disappointment.

"Hey," John croaked, and cleared his throat, "how are you feeling, Sherlock?"

"High," the detective replied, somewhat apprehensively. "Though I'm not entirely sure why, since I didn't take anything." He eyed John with an intensity, silently asking for an explanation as to what had happened. It was disconcerting waking up feeling like this when it wasn't his own doing.

John nodded curtly, understanding Sherlock's need for reassurance. "That would be the painkillers they gave you. It wasn't long ago, so it's no wonder you're really feeling them."

Sherlock simply nodded, still trying to put all the facts together.

John noted the silence and the confusion still on Sherlock's face. "What do you remember?"

Sherlock closed his eyes. If John hadn't seen him in his mind palace several times he might have suspected Sherlock had fallen asleep.

"Heat. I remember heat. And," he paused for a few seconds, trying to organise his thoughts, "there was something… warm. And soft. I haven't the faintest idea what it was though. After that I just remember being moved to the ambulance."

"Wait, there was more," Sherlock said, squinting his eyes in John's direction. "You were there, too. At least I think you were. Could've just been in my head though. You often are."

Sherlock didn't seem to realise the implication of what he had just said. John sat with his mouth hanging slightly open as he listened to Sherlock rationalising John's presence.

 _Could've just been in my head though. You often are._

John couldn't get those words out of his own head. But what really shocked him was how casual Sherlock sounded. As though there was no question that John would be there. Whether in reality or in Sherlock's head, John would always be by his side.

"Of course I was there," John replied, his voice thick with emotion.

Sherlock looked up when he heard John. There was something in his voice. Sherlock tried to deduce what it was but John's expression gave nothing away. He cleared his throat nervously. "Of course, you are a doctor after all."

"That's not why I was there." John looked into Sherlock's eyes, locking their gazes together. "Did you forget?"

"Forget what?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"It's you and me against the rest of the world."


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing he felt was the breeze.

It blew swiftly across his face, and he took a moment to appreciate the fresh air. It felt like years since he'd been outside of the confining hallways of the hospital, but in fact it had only been a few days.

His discharge from hospital had been surprisingly painless, and mostly due to the fact that John had threatened Sherlock if he didn't behave.

Now John and Sherlock were on their way back to Baker Street, and Sherlock couldn't stop his mind from wandering. His memory was still a little fuzzy but John had filled in most of the blanks.

He'd told Sherlock about the case and the subsequent fire. About how John had run as soon as he'd received Sherlock's text.

 _Please hurry. I need you. SH_

How lucky Sherlock had been that John had only been a few streets away. Had gotten there just in time. Had managed to mostly catch Sherlock as he jumped out the window of a burning building.

How John had saved his life. Again.

As Sherlock pondered that, John tried to replace the images that had been stuck in his head for the last few days.

Sherlock sprawled across John's body, barely conscious, struggling for breath, clutching at John's jumper. He tried to forget that the paramedics had to pry Sherlock's hands off of John so they could treat him. Or how Sherlock had only truly calmed down as John held his hand in the ambulance. Or how relieved John had been that Sherlock had made it through relatively unscathed.

Regardless of this, the taxi ride was quiet. Emotions had always been an unspoken part of their friendship and it seemed neither one felt comfortable changing that.

As soon as they arrived at Baker Street, Sherlock went straight to the bathroom to wash off the hospital scent. When he came out, freshly dressed in his pyjamas and dressing gown, he was met with a quiet John sitting on the sofa.

"John?" Sherlock called out hesitantly. He walked slowly towards the sofa, his eyes trained intently on his flatmate. "I need to tell you something."

"What is it, Sherlock?" John asked, concerned. Hesitation was not a usual trait in the great Sherlock Holmes.

"Nothing's wrong," Sherlock reassured him, seeing John's guarded expression. He took a seat next to him. "I just wanted to say thank you, for saving my life again."

"You're welcome," John replied earnestly. "Was there anything else?" he added, noticing Sherlock fidgeting nervously.

Sherlock willed himself to stop fidgeting, and slowly settled his hand on John's knee. He waited, carefully watching John's expression, and when his friend didn't pull away from the touch Sherlock started edging closer. "Just one more thing," he whispered. He was dangerously close to John, but even so he leaned further towards him, still watching for John's reaction.

He was pleased when he noted John leaning closer and closer to him, both men meeting somewhere in the middle.

Before he could talk himself out of it Sherlock closed the distance between them and softly touched his lips to John's.

He closed his eyes without even realising as John reciprocated, bringing their lips together again. When they finally separated they both sat very still, foreheads touching, simply looking into one another's eyes.

Suddenly a look of pure joy settled itself on John's face. He gently laid his hand on Sherlock's cheek and the detective leaned into it. "I need you," Sherlock said softly, kissing John once again. "I want you."

"You have me," John replied. "You have me in every way possible."

John laid back on the sofa and held Sherlock against him, their hands held together over Sherlock's chest, as though they had always belonged there.


End file.
